


To The Realms, A Child

by Mephron



Series: Demon-Blood's Travels [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms, Original Work
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-17 02:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mephron/pseuds/Mephron
Summary: Meliantha's birth, and earliest days





	1. Chapter 1

Ches 19, 1354 DR:

 

The half-elven priest stared at the tableaux in front of him. A young woman, far too young, belly swollen, screaming; a midwife, deeply harried, obviously scared. He moved to help, calling on Helm to bring him strength, to give to the girl. The birthing…

The midwife looked at him. “The child is too large. She can’t hope to survive. And the gods know if the child will be able to survive.” Her eyes were bleak with despair.

The priest prayed a moment, and the girl sank into sleep. “If nothing else, her passing will be painless.” He looked at the poor girl. He sighed. Auguries had pointed to this area for months, but it wasn’t until just days before that they’d indicated thing were critical. If he’d been sent earlier… who knows? She might not have been brought to the point of dying.

The midwife began to work, as the girl lay in her enchanted sleep. The older woman’s work became more frantic, harried, as he quietly prayed. He was trained in healing, but more in battlefield surgery and wounds than midwifery, and he felt it best to stay out of the woman’s way and not distract her by asking questions.

It was the work of two candlemarks passed when the poor farm girl’s eyes flew open and her body stiffened. She let out an agonized scream, and then collapsed in a boneless manner that the priest knew was death. He turned to bless her passage, when the midwife found her voice, and began to scream as well – in horror. As he caught sight of the infant, he knew why. The blood drained from his face, rendering his pale skin even paler.

The infant had grey skin covered with a faint sheen of its mother’s blood. Its mouth was open to cry, revealing sharp teeth already formed. A cap of black hair covered it’s head, and the ears flopped out to the sides, almost elven, but much longer. He prayed for a moment, and was rewarded with a moment of guidance.

“Give me the child, goodwife. I know what must be done.”

The midwife stared at him. “So do I!” She turned to throw the infant into the fire… and it stopped and floated to the ground in front of the fireplace. A glowing gauntlet with an eye on the back appeared over him. The priest dropped to his knees, as did the midwife. Her eyes turned to him, wide with shock. “Lord… I don’t know what to do.”

He shook his head. “I will handle this.” He handed the woman a small pouch, as the gauntlet disappeared. “Use this for her burial, and tell them nothing but that I took the infant away, to have it dealt with as it should be.”

As he rode away in the silence of the morning, he shook his head, and looked down at the infant. “And why does Helm see you as so important, little one? You cannot hope to find peace anywhere near here.” Then he shrugged. His god had spoken, and he would follow the commands.

 

* * *

 

He travelled with a caravan part of the way, going through Pripurl to Iriaebor. There he turned and joined a large group of pilgrims, who went through Asbravn, and finally riding towards the Vale Gate, past the paddocks and stockyards, into his home city of Berdusk. With a sigh of contentment at being home, he left the pilgrims. A brief return of the horse to the trader he’d bought it from (getting back some of the money paid), and he made his way through the gate. He walked, with the swaddled infant on his back, covered from the sun (so he told any who asked, and to the frown of a priest of Lathander the sun god), to his home, the Ready House of the Right Strong Hand.

“What news from your trip, brother?” was the greeting from the gatekeeper, his shining plate armor and massive blade keeping everyone who might try something at bay.

“A foundling,” he said. “I must speak with Brimmerbold immediately.”

“For a foundling? Must be special. I’ll send word. You’d best wash up – you know how he is.”

“Indeed,” Davlin said, nodding, and headed for his own personal chamber, carefully ignoring the watchful eyes on him and his parcel.

 

* * *

 

Vigilant Godseye Tathlosar Brimmerbold (better known to friends and enemies alike as “Sleepless Teeth”) regarded his subordinate with what could only be described by the most charitable as ‘disapproving’. Some might almost call it ‘wrathful’. His bushy grey eyebrows were lowered over his dark-colored eyes, and his lips were invisible, pursed as they were – between his thick (if well-groomed) mustache and beard.

“And so ye chose ta bring that screamin’ Abyss-spawn  **here**? Ta this temple?”

“What else could I do? Our Commander’s symbol appeared, and kept the child from going into the fire! It was a clear message that he wanted me to take action.”

“Mayhap. But on you rests this whole thing. You’ll be responsible for all the harm it brings.”

“And if she brings none?”

Brimmerbold’s eyes narrowed. “A  _girl_  Abyss-spawn. Oh, that’s just even more blessings,” he noted with deep sarcasm. “You’re still responsible for all of it. Feeding, washing, raising. Training. Even if she’s not fit for the clergy, she’ll still learn to use a blade with all the rest of them. And what do we feed her? Mice?”

Davlin took a deep breath. gritting his teeth and focusing his mind to not punch the leader of the temple. “She fed on jerky on the way back here, and some nuts. Give her the time to grow and learn to move and she’ll be eating proper meals with the rest of us.”

“Oh, aye. If ye got a command, then ye must follow it. But still, I must do one thing before I put my approval on.” The battered priest rose from his chair, gesturing, and Davlin gathered up the infant and followed. They left the office, walking through the temple’s corridors with a certain amount of alacrity, until they reached the main hall.

This hall was where services were held – birth-blessings, funerals, marriages, weekly services, and the occasional return from the dead (very occasional – anyone needing a more powerful spell to do that was usually sent to the Oghman or Denieran temples nearby). From outside could be heard the clangor of arms training – and more than a few yells of instructors dressing down their students of one kind of idiotic behavior or another. Brimmerbold went to a vault behind the altar, opening it and regarding its contents before taking something out and closing it again. The item proved to be a chunk of incense, which the temple head placed in a brazier. Then he gestured to Davlin to put the infant down and kneel beside him.

The air nearly seemed to pulsate as the old priest began to cast the spell. The brazier burst into flame, the incense smoke flowing around them in violation of the still air in the hall. Every other sound seemed to get very far away, even as the novices who were supposed to be cleaning the hall for the next day’s services stopped to watch – rare were the times when Sleepless Teeth himself led anything in particular. And then he began to speak:

"Helm, Our Commander and Leader, God of Protectors, I beg thy forgiveness for any distraction from your duties I cause, and thank thee for thy protection of us from evil. I find it needful to ask of thee questions, so that I may know thy will. Did you direct this child be saved?"

The cloud of incense smoke thickened, and the symbol of Helm appeared above the altar. And then the answer came in a sound like a sword against a shield:

YES.

For a moment, neither had anything to say, and then Tathlosar Brimmerbold, for the first time even in his service, had a moment of doubt in his god, and asked “Why?”

TO SAVE HER FROM HER FATHER.

The spell normally didn't give more than a few words, but then, the voice of Helm continued:

SHE WAS BORN TO BE USED TO CREATE A GATE TO THE ABYSS. IT IS WRONG FOR HER TO BE PUNISHED FOR THIS, AS IT IS NOT HER CHOICE. SHE IS SAVED – PROTECTED – AND I COMMEND HER TO YOU, DAVLIN, TO BRING HER TO A DIFFERENT DESTINY.

The two priests bowed their heads low, as the spell unwove itself, the smoke thinned, and the fire burned out. The infant, who had not even made a sound at the thunder of the god’s speech, opened her eyes for the first time either of them had seen. They had no pupil, no white, just an orb of violet, not unlike an amethyst.

“Well,” said Brimmerbold. “Well. Helm’s spoken. So it shall be done.” Then, with some of his air of asperity restored, he added, “But she’s still yours to deal with. We’ll see ye have larger quarters – your current room won’t be good for both of ye. And since ye probably know not a blessed thing about raising a child, I’ll see if I can find someone to help ye.” He blew out through his beard. “If I’d known this was going to be the result I’d have sent someone else.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Davlin said. “I’m the most academic priest here, all the others are battle-priests. They wouldn’t have known what to do, and so I was best suited.”

“Davlin, stop bein’ right at me, ye know I don’t like that.”

One of the acolytes came over. “Do you need any help, sirs? Did the spell go well?”

Brimmerbold’s eyebrows came down again. “Did ye not hear?”

The young woman paled. “Hear, Vigilant Godseye? There was nothing to hear. We just saw you two praying, and then you were talking as if you were done.”

“And perhaps we should talk further  _in your office_ , Vigilant Godseye,” Davlin followed up. He hoped that Brimmerbold would pick up the line of thought – if they didn’t hear, perhaps Helm didn’t want them to do so.

The older priest had, indeed. “Bring lunch to my office for myself and Davlin, then take word to Hammerlin that we need Mistress Iola.”

She nodded and went off to her duties. As the two ascended the stairs back to Brimmerbold’s office, Davlin asked,

“Who is Mistress Iola?

Brimmerbold grunted. “Me third handfast.” Davlin tried not to react – it was known that Brimmerbold had been married once, that she’d died in battle alongside him, but handfastings – marriages for a short time to see if they were able to be together for life – weren’t something that followers of Helm did often. “Also a priestess of Eldath, and she’s taken care of a number of foundlings. Should be able to help you.”

 

* * *

 

When the lunch had arrived – along with, due to some forethought by that acolyte, a cradle – they began eating and planning what to do next. There was a small suite available, and Brimmerbold made a note to have some acolytes set it up later that day.

“It’s also a bit farther out from the rest of the residences,” Brimmerbold noted, “which might help in case of cryin’. Oh, and we must plan the birth-blessing.” he scribbled more notes down, looking up as the door opened, and a chubby, apple-cheeked woman in blue and green robes walked in. His eyes lit up and he smiled. “Well met, Iola,” he greeted the newcomer.

“And well met to ye, Nest-face!” she replied, blue eyes dancing and laughter in her voice, and Brimmerbold laughed out loud. She turned to Davlin. “It’s the beard, you know,” she explained, and then curtseyed. “Iola of Eldath, keeper of the Children’s Rest, at your service. I was told you needed someone to teach you to take care of a child. Now, a foundling, or did you have an encounter with someone?” As he found himself laughing, she continued, “These things happen, you know. I’m not judging you, lad.”

“Iola, stop tormenting the lad. No, we have a foundling – a special one – and we need some advice about how to care for the creature.” Brimmerbold brought out another chair, and, taking her hand, guided her into it.

“What kind of special are we talking about? An orc infant? Or something else?” She looked into the cradle, and her eyes widened. “…oho, I see. Yes, this is going to be a bit different. She’s on hard food already, I expect.”

“Indeed,” Davlin replied. “Jerky and nuts. She’s got barely anything to chew vegetables with, but she took to those. She can’t feed herself yet, but she can bite.” He thought of the trip here, and the need for some minor healing for a gnashed fingertip.

Mistress Iola nodded. “Well, I think I can teach you about child care, even for a child like this one. It’ll be good for you both.” She reached down, lifted the infant up, and unswaddled her, then shook her head. “And we’ll be starting with teaching you how to diaper. I mean, blessings for the try but damnations for the actual work.” As Davlin stammered, she shook her head. “No, no, it’s obvious you tried, just didn’t know. And what’s this wee one’s name?”

Davlin paused, as did Brimmerbold. “She hasn’t had her birth-blessing yet,” Brimmerbold explained, “And so she hasn’t been properly named yet.”

Iona made a dismissive noise, then started to hum softly, the sound of running water in her music. Then she laid her head on the infant’s forehead and said, “Until you are blessed here, let Eldath’s peace be upon you, little one.” Then she turned to the two men. “Sorry about that, but I think there may be some danger in having her without any blessings at all right now. And I have her name for you, a word in Auld Chessic, which I think might work for her, the word for ‘Child of Many Trials’, as I’m sure she’ll have those. That word is Meliantha.”

“So let it be,” Davlin said.


	2. Meetings and Mentors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the age of 4, Meliantha decides to run away, and instead finds people who will later become mentors,

### Eleisis 5, 1358:

The small dark figure clambered over the wall in the dark, then let herself down, small fingers fitting deftly into the space between stones. She knew it would bother Father, but she couldn’t put up with the others anymore.

Between Brother Norvin’s preaching about her sins being worn on her skin, and Felger’s recent attempt at “helping”, she’d had enough. She’d left Father a note, gathered a few things, and climbed the wall.

Meliantha realized, as she moved, that the smell of that “help” still clung to her – that bully Felgar and half a dozen of his cohort had dragged her, screaming, to the laundry, and tried to scrub her clean. When the laundry soap hadn’t been able to do it, they took to the bleach. It was only luck that kept her from being blinded, but she still smelled of it a little, and her skin still burned from the force of the scrubbing brushes and the soap and the harsh cleaners.

Even so, it was time to go. She was four, after all – and easily the strength and speed of a child twice her age. It never occurred to her that, as a matter of fact, that wasn’t really enough to survive in the wilderness. Or for that matter, in the city.

She’d never left the temple before now, but armed with the pure belief of a child that she could do whatever she wanted, she moved on.

* * *

There was nothing else to do, she realized. She was good and lost, and hadn’t even gotten to a city wall. It was not a good showing, she thought. What sort of adventurer didn’t even make it out of a city? She’d avoided guards, that was good, but still, she didn’t want to be a thief, she wanted to be the kind of hero they’d respect. Not the kind they’d scream at for being evil, or try to scrub the skin off of, that was for certain.

She was also cold, so she thought she’d try her hand at sleeping somewhere out-of-the-way. The first place she found seemed promising: the door, with a mark on it with rays and some kind of glowing picture, opened freely, so she stepped inside.

Inside was a shop – and what a shop! Items in glowing globes floated slowly about, taller than she could reach. The floor was clean, and in the center of it all hovered a lady, her entire face veiled, dressed in a gown that obscured her entire body.

“Welcome to The Dawn Of Any Day, child. You don’t look like my usual shopper, but still, I welcome all who look for a brighter tomorrow for themselves.” There was something oddly thin about her voice, but it was warm and pleasant. Meliantha curtseyed as best she could, putting down her small sack to do it.

“I don’t have any coin,” she said as seriously as a child could, “so I should go instead of bothering you.”

The lady let out a bright, warm laugh. “Oh, child, you aren’t bothering me. There’s no other customers here now, so no one else to be bothered here either! Come closer,” she said as she gestured with a gloved hand. “My name is Darthleene, and I am the proprietor here. May I ask your name, honored customer?”

Meliantha felt a soft blush come over her cheeks. “I am Meliantha, a foundling living in the temple of Helm.” She curtseyed again, politely.

“Oh, you are Meliantha. I have heard of you, little one. Probably not the best tales, but those who told them were not of the best character, so I discount them.” Despite the veil, Meliantha felt herself examined closely. “And rightfully so. Blood does not always tell, child, remember that always.” Then she clapped her hands. “And so, for all the things that have been said that you did not deserve, I believe you deserve a gift to make up for them.” She turned, almost floating, as she moved to one of the bubbles. “What would… ah, yes. Indeed.” She reached into the bubble, making it fade, and then came out with a bauble.

“This, child, is yours. Take it.” She offered the green bead on a chain to Meliantha, who took it wonderingly. “It will bring you some good luck if you let it. Now, you should go from here, and out that door,” Darthleen said, pointing at one. “You’ll find a fellow there who will help you a little, I think. And come back again when you have some coin, dearie, and I’ll see what baubles I sell might fit you.”

“Thank you, Lady Darthleene,” Meliantha said, awestruck as she curtseyed a third time, then picked up her sack and went to the door that was indicated to her. She was usually a good judge of character, but even with her feelings about Darthleene, there was just no malice at all.

As that door swung closed, the door she had entered swung open, letting Davlin in. “Oh, good heavens, Mistress Darthleene, I beg apologies, but my daughter’s missing and I heard tell she was seen near here -“

A raised hand stopped him. “Well met, Davlin of Helm. She has been here and gone. Quite a polite girl, but you and I, we need to talk a bit before you can go where I sent her. Trust me, she is quite safe – I sent her to one who I feel would be a good person for her to meet, and both she and the street she walks was watched by Those Who Harp. After all,” she continued, “Those Who Harp find her most interesting…”

* * *

The door let out into another street, across from a narrow old stone house, trim painted a dark green. A sign hung in front, but she couldn’t read yet, and so she didn’t know what it said. The door was open, and she heard a man inside singing a trail song in a rough, cheery voice. Carefully, she crept forwards and peeked in the door.

The man was dressed in shades of green and brown, and while his hair was thinning, his shoulders were broad, and his skin the color of varnished oak. She didn’t understand a bunch of the words of the song, but she found herself enchanted by it, and found her foot tapping along. He was moving things around as he sang, and hanging them on the wall. He finished, turned, and spotted her. With a wide grin on his face, he gestured to her. “Come in, come in, little lady, welcome to Thunderwood Forays, purveyor of the best equipment for adventurers in this city!”

As she stepped in, he sat down on a stool, gesturing to a nearby small chair. “It’s for a halfling, but I think it’ll fit you.” Politely, she curtseyed, then walked to the chair and sat down. It did fit her, well enough.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sir. My name is Meliantha. I am pleased to meet you.”

The man smiled broadly. “And I am Olbrimsur Thunderwood, owner of this fine establishment, and it is a pleasure to meet you. I shouldn’t be surprised – when I leave the door open at night, something interesting always happens, and always to the best. Have you had supper?”

A brief, soft noise passed before she answered.

“That would be no, then.” He rose. “I’m sure I have something to share with someone needing it.” She tried to protest, but he fixed her with a look. “I’ve been hungry on a night, deep in an unfamiliar place, and would have been most thankful for a meal, and a companion makes any meal a bit better.”

“Then I would be happy to, sir.”

He blew out between his lips. “Little lady, I am no ‘sir’. I would be honored if you call me Olbrimsur. And I shall call you Meliantha.”

After a meal of a thick, savory stew, Olbrimsur started showing her around the shop, which was, as he said, a place for adventuring supplies. From the armors that hung from the ceiling in thick chains, to the assortment of items, he told the history and tales of all of them, weaving stories of battles and history. At one point, she sat on a camp cot, and then, slowly, she leaned over, fell on her side, and dozed off.

Ten minutes after she fell asleep, Davlin entered the store, and bowed to Olbrimsur. “Master Thunderwood, I apologize for bothering you, but -“

“No bother at all, son,” the old ranger said, “none at all. You’ll be wanting your daughter now.” His voice was not the booming roar, but hushed. He led Davlin to that cot, where Meliantha lay curled up, her sack next to her.

“Thank you,” the priest said. “For taking care of her. Mistress Darthleene said that there was some interest in her by some people.”

“Indeed,” Olbrimsur said, turning out part of his vest to show a pin of silver, a crescent moon surrounding a harp. “She’s a good lass – good-hearted despite what those louts did to her, and what that bastard says to her. Not my place, but if it was, I’d undo his jaw.” He shook his head. “When the time comes she’s old enough, let her come to me. She’s going to be strong, but she needs skills, and I will teach her the ways of the wood and the shadow.”

“Those aren’t quite Helm’s ways,” Davlin said, mildly. “Helm’s way is to protect and defend, not walk the woods.”

“Your lord Helm needs scouts, good priest, and all goodly folk need defending. There’s nothing wrong with knowing the remote places that some of the worst of threats breed and rise, and nothing wrong with knowing how to weaken or stop them before they come roaring from mountain or cave or forest, is there?”

“No, no, there is not," Davlin said, thoughtfully. "And if, as it seems, her destiny is to wander, she’ll need those skills. She’ll be trained by the battle-priests, for certain, but from what Mistress Darthleene said, she’ll need to know more. I’ll arrange some payment for you, Master Thunderwood.”

Olbrimsur gestured dismissively. “No, no money from your temple. The Harpers want to see her thrive, and keep her well. Her heart won’t keep her in Berdusk forever, lad. She’ll need to be free.”

“I know. I just fear for her.” He took a deep breath, and four years of worries came spilling out, to this man he knew only by reputation: “So few will accept her with her face, and even the other foundlings can’t be trusted. When I found out about today’s incident, Restless Teeth practically had to cudgel me before I throttled all of them! And I am sworn to protect my brothers, but it is sore tested when I find her crying and she tells me that Norvin went into one of his tirades at her about ‘wearing sin on her skin’ and ‘murdered her mother’ and ‘corruption among us to test our faith’. One day he may raise his hand to her – Helm ward her if that happens – and then who knows what’s going to happen. If I can’t protect her in our own house, how can I have her safe when she leaves?” He’d kept his voice low, but felt tears running down his face as all the emotion came from him.

“You can’t. There’s no way. My son is out there, somewhere, wandering – last I heard, he was in the Shaar, with other druids like himself. I worry, yes, but he’s doing what his heart calls him to do.” At the incredulous look from Davlin, he nodded. “I don’t talk about him much – his mother and I separated, and he went his own way, not like either of us – but I love him. Like you love her. Not your child of body, but your child of heart, and all the more precious for that. But you can’t keep her locked away, or she’ll become bitter and angry. But teach her well – and I promise you, in Mielikki’s name and ways, I will, as well, and not try to convert her away from Helm – teach her well, and she will remember you in her heart wherever she goes.”

Davlin nodded, then nodded again. “Thank you, Olbrimsur. Thank you for all this.”

“All for the best, lad. Now, you get her home. She’s had dinner, so she just needs sleep.” The ranger picked up the sack. “And I’ll carry this for you.”

* * *

When dawn broke, Meliantha woke in her own bed. She slid out of it and looked out of her small cubicle, to see her father sleeping, dead to the world. She climbed into his bed, and curled up with him. She was going to get a scolding, she knew, but for now, she would rest in a place she felt safe.

She would not know that her father dreamt of the sam: places where she would feel safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lady Darthleen is undead, a ghost, but not evil, thus her voice seems 'thin'.


	3. Hatred, Anger and Strife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the age of twelve, Meliantha finally snaps back at her abusers, and faces judgement.

### Kythorn 12, 1368

“Keep your guard up, lad!” The  _salle_  master shouted at the young man, who’d let the point of his waster drop, just in time for his opponent to knock it out of his hands with her own wooden sword, then poke him in the left side of the chest.

“And that’s why. Someday, some horror might stab you through the heart.” Brother Norvin, the armsmaster, said with a sanctimonious air. “This time, it was just a practice sword. You,” he said to Meliantha, “pick up his waster and make sure it’s not damaged from your action.”

She said, suppressing her urge to attack Norvin, “Yes, Armsmaster.” Holding her own, she crouched to get it, then went sprawling as Norvin kicked her in the back.

“Know your place, pitspawn,” he hissed. “Embarrass him again and I’ll have you beaten until you bleed out!” Looking from behind him, Felger smirked at her position.

She felt her arms ache to move, to drive both wooden swords into Norvin’s eyes, to drive them upwards into his groin, and with the practice of all her fourteen years, she drove it down. She rolled over and looked right into Norvin’s eyes, and said, “If he wasn’t incompetent, he might have a chance against me.”

She expected the order for the entire class to attack her. She expected the half that did attack her. She expected the painful beating, and the beatings she delivered. She even expected the cheap shot from Felger and the charge from Brother Norvin. None of that meant she expected to win. But she knew there were enough of them down that she’d given a good accounting of herself.

Norvin casting a spell that sent two bursts of magical energy slamming into her back was not something she expected, and as things went dark, she heard a cry go up. She wasn’t sure what they were saying, only that someone was yelling fairly loudly. She didn’t have to chance to wonder what they were yelling about before everything went out.

* * *

When she woke, it was dark again. She shifted, and was surprised to find herself in her own bed. “Did not expect the afterlife to be like this,” she muttered, and started to rise. The amount of pain she was in started to convince her she must be alive, as she groaned.

“Oh, by Helm’s gauntlet,” came a voice from the doorway, and her father came in. “Get back in bed, girl. You should be resting!” He came over and pushed her back down. She didn’t resist – it hurt too much. He checked her bandages, and then sat down in the chair next to her.

“I’m forbidden from healing you,” he said, quietly. “There’s going to be a tribunal, and your wounds will be inspected, as part of the evidence. You were lucky, child, that Sergeant Taralanth was coming to see how the class was coming along. He saw what happened, and how you fought back. He was quite impressed, but Brimmerbold wants you there, unhealed but for what time brought.” Darvin looked at his adopted daughter. “I don’t know if you know that, but you beat a third of your class before Norvin stepped in.” He shook his head. “It’s going to be a problem for all of us.”

“What will happen to me? Will I have to go?”

He blew out. “I doubt that very much. There’s too much evidence against them, and that you didn’t do anything at all but state truth. Some may not like you much, but their faith is such they’d defend you as the wronged.”

Meliantha nodded. “But there’s still a chance.”

“Yes. But we knew it might happen someday. What did you say to make him so angry?” She told him, and he shook his head. “You’re better than he is – much better – but that was not terribly tactful.”

“Tact is for bards and diplomats,” she said, repeating a line he’d said many times.

“Perhaps, but it can save you from beatings if you use it. Like the one you just had.” He rose, and got her a mug of water. “This will help you sleep. The inquest is in the morning. Stay here – there’s guards outside.”

“To keep me in?”

Darvin sounded grave as he said, “To keep their friends out.”

* * *

The inquest was held in one of the inner chambers of the temple. Norvin was there, as was Felger, both seated, the second looking terrified. Sgt. Taralanth was also there, as was his sponsor for paladinhood, Sir Brimfold Torvallos. Darvin was present and so was Tathlosar Brimmerbold, who had recused himself from the inquest, but stood in his position of leader of the temple. The inquest was held by the next three senior members of the temple: Inquisitor Taran Goldshade, Most Blessed Archivist Zalgar M’Diesa, and Quartermaster Aemon McFallgar.

She took a few moments to study the three and remember what she could of them. Goldshade was a seeker after truth, and would let none stand in his way of finding it. M’Diesa was a stiff, strict woman, who had no tolerance for games, and seemed annoyed to be out of her archives. McFallgar was the only dwarf in the temple, and was very organized, from his polished armor to his carefully plaited beard to the storage rooms of the temple, where nothing could be lost, because he knew every single box and bag and shelf by heart. A trio to respect the letter of the rules. And neither of them seemed either particularly adversarial or sympathetic to her.

This might work out all right, she thought.

Goldshade rose. “I call into session this inquest into the events of yesterday. The foundling Meliantha stands accused of assaulting the youth Felger, cheating in the training ring, insubordination, blasphemy, and inappropriate conduct. Norvin Silversword stands accused of exceeding his mandate as training master, misuse of the powers granted him by Helm, and conduct unbecoming a priest of Helm. Felger of Berdusk stands accused of improper behavior in the training ground. By the blessings of Helm, we will guard against falsehood, guard against evil, and guard against the wicked. The Blessings of Helm be upon these proceedings.” The last sentence was repeated by all present. “We will hear the testimonies now.”

Meliantha was first. At the request of the tribunal, she awkwardly stripped to her undergarments, and they inspected her injuries with a clinical air.

“Numerous bruises on the body, with a few having broken the skin,” M’Diesa noted. She reached out and ran her hand over Meliantha’s head. “Two rather sizable goose-eggs. One eye bruised.” She reached for a hand, and inspected it. “Numerous bruised and bloodied knuckles, injuries similar to that of having a hand hit by a waster multiple times.” She circled Meliantha, then nodded. “The injuries are consistent with the sergeant’s report, and decidedly inconsistent from Norvin’s or Felger’s.”

She was allowed to redress, and Felger and Norvin went through similar inspections, the Archivist recording their own marks. Then, the taking of that evidence done, the Archivist turned to Brimmerbold. “Vigilant Godseye, I ask you give healing to Meliantha. None of her injuries are life-threatening, but she has borne them without complaint and I believe she has earned a respite from pain.”

The leader of the temple bowed, and quietly prayed, and when he was done Meliantha felt good enough to give them both another beating, but the time had come for the testimonies of the witnesses.

“Now, Sergeant, please tell this tribunal what you saw,” Goldshade instructed the paladin-candidate.

Taralanth took a position of battle-rest. “I approached the training ground as part of my duties – remedial instruction in combat, as well as keeping an eye out for trouble between trainees so it can be handled before things get out of hand. As I approached, I saw Brother Norvin kick Meliantha from behind, sending her sprawling. I was not close enough to hear what they said to each other, but whatever it was caused Brother Norvin to instruct all the other trainees to attack her, even when she had not been able to rise. About half the class of trainees did so, and many of them were bested by her. I was about to intervene – without knowing what was said, I did not wish to do so until it was obviously improper to continue – when Norvin uttered a prayer and struck her with a Castigating Ray. At that point, I charged in, called a halt, and disarmed Norvin. As I was doing so, Sir Brimford arrived to assist me.”

Sir Brimford took up from there, his deep voice ringing out in the room. “When I arrived, Taralanth had Norvin on his face, immobilized on the training ground. The students who had not followed the order to attack had taken up a defensive circle around Meliantha at Taralanth’s command – I commend him for that thought. I ordered the attackers, including Felger, to stand down, which they did, laying down their weapons. Once the melee was calmed, I called for medical help and for Watchful Godseye Brimmerbold.”

Brimmerbold’s testimony was next: “When I arrived, I spoke to each of the lads but Felger. The ones that attacked believed that Norvin had spoken as the training master and were to be obeyed, and that Meliantha had used some kind of demonic power which had not affected Norvin, and he was calling on them to defend him. Those that did not attack believed that there was no reason to do so, and that Norvin had not ordered them within the limits of his authority. The majority of those who attacked were part of the …laundry incident a number of years ago. I have separated those out and they are being given supplementary instruction in behavior.”

Meliantha told her story next, leaving nothing out and cleaving to the truth as close as she could, and then it was time for Felger.

“After she cheated and disarmed me sneakily, Brother Norvin commanded her to pick up my blade, as she’d been the one to make me drop it. She fell over, being clumsy, and when Brother Norvin told her to get up, she said a word I didn’t know – some pit language, I expect – and that’s when Brother Norvin called on us all to strike her down, her being evil and all. Then when she got all demony, he called on Helm to cast her down, and she dropped like a stone.” The Inquisitor watched him the whole time, almost unblinking, as the Archivist took notes on all of them, and McFallgar sat there, paying just enough attention to be part of the proceedings.

“So,” Goldshade said, “Despite being clumsy, she was able to sneakily disarm you, then fight against half the training class of her level until a spell was cast at her. Interesting,” he finished, dismissively. “Brother Norvin, your testimony?” He said it in the same tones, as if he expected nothing but deceit from Norvin.

“Indeed, she was rude and disruptive. I don’t know the trick she used, but she probably learned it from that blasted fool Olbrimsur she sneaks out to meet! Then when I told her she should not use those tricks, she called Felger ‘incompetent’, and blasphemed! It was at that point I chose to teach her a lesson on not insulting those she’d serve with. Then, when she lost control and started beating them, I had no choice but to strike her down! She’s been nothing but an insult to this temple since the day that idiot brought her across our doorstep and for whatever reason, Brimmerbold let her stay! She’s been bewitching with her foul powers since the moment she came here, and none of you see it!” His voice rose, an ugly tone as he spoke. “She’s a creature of sin, and her first sin was murder! She killed her own mother, clawing out of her, and we all know it! But we ignore it and let her stay here, a festering wound in the temple, her blood and sin and corruption tainting all of you! I see the truth! I know it! And there will be a cleansing!” He turned, suddenly, and glared at Darvin. He reached into his robes and withdrew an ornately-carved piece of wood, and said in a voice that echoed unnaturally, “Give in to the hatred in your heart, and do what you know must be done!“

Darvin’s face contorted, briefly, as a sudden rage and hatred at his foster daughter seized him, but the spell’s effect drained away in a moment. Before he could react, a throwing hammer caught Norvin in the side of the head, dropping him to the ground.

“Not sure about the rest of ye, but I’m thinkin’ the lass is innocent on most charges now.” McFallgar turned to look at Meliantha. “Sorry, girl, but ye were insubordinate.”

“I think we’re done here, yes,” M’Diesa said, primly.

“Mm, yes. Guards, bind and gag Norvin, and place him in a cell. Felger, you are expelled. Meliantha, report to the quartermaster’s for punishment duty for insubordination. This inquest stands adjourned.”

As the guards came to pick Norvin up and bind him, he recovered his wits and started yelling. “No! I’m the righteous one here! She’s a creature of evil! She must be purged!”

McFallgar harrumphed, standing, his thumbs in his belt and one hand right next to another small throwing hammer. “Shut yer trap, ye beef-witted blatherskite, afore I decide to take my own action against ye. I haven’t missed with me hammer in ten years, and your melon’s lookin’ very much like a target to me today!”

The gag suppressed any other comments from Norvin.

* * *

Darvin emerged from the priory to find Quartermaster McFallgar standing in the courtyard, watching the walls. It was unusual for him to seem so … _idle_. “Good day, Quartermaster. May I ask what you’re doing?”

The dwarf turned and bowed. “Greetings to you, Brother. Supervising your daughter’s punishment for insubordination. I’m having her run the wall patrol a dozen times.” Something in the dwarf’s eyes twinkled. “It’s been very illuminating – wait, here we go!” He turned to watch the wall again, and Darvin watched as well.

Meliantha came running full-tilt from behind one of the buildings into view. She kept running, made a turn as two of the wall-guards stood aside, and then ran for the main gate. There was a gap of perhaps five feet in the walkway over the doors from a battle a century before, and in commemoration of that battle, it had never been repaired. She showed no signs of stopping as she approached it, and then as she got there, she flung herself forwards, cleared the gap by a couple of feet, and continued on without pause.

“How many times has she done that?” Darvin asked.

“Nine. She’s got three more to go. She went for the leap first time, and just keeps going.” McFallgar glanced over. “I think I want to see her in fighting training. She’s fast and she’s strong, and she doesn’t tire easily.”

“Indeed,” a deep voice came from behind them, as Sir Brimfold emerged. “And she has no evil in her heart. I would know.” The paladin watched as she came around and did the leap again. “Indeed, if she was a bit less rambunctious, I’d suggest she might be a good trainee once I am ready for a new one. But she is willful and argumentative – too much so for a paladin-candidate. Not that it’s entirely bad – anyone willing to debate a paladin in matters of law is courageous enough, but her destiny does not lie in the path of a paladin.” He glanced at Davlin. “Still, she was raised well, despite everything.”

Davlin cleared his throat nervously.

“Perhaps I should test her at arms as well,” Sir Brimfold continued. “I’d like to see how she fights. After all,” he noted artlessly, “she’s obviously been tutored outside our temple. And she very obviously has other skills.”

Davlin coughed. “One takes what one is offered.”

“Indeed. Shall we, Aemon? I would like to see what she’s made of.”

* * *

_I will kill her someday,_  Norvin thought, over and over.  _She has humiliated me, seen me cast out, and now I will kill her. She’s corrupted all of them, and I will kill them, too._  The cell was dark, and cold, and he sat on the pile of straw on the floor. And he thought of all the ways he would torment and kill her.

And then, he heard a voice whisper in his ear.

_Come to the fourth floor of the third house from Copper Lane on Blackwood Row and we will help you in revenge._

He did not recognize the voice, but he would, at the least, listen to the offer.

* * *

 

The next day, Brother Norvin was stripped of his place in the temple, whipped, and expelled. He picked himself up, and, wearing nothing but a pair of sandals and a pair of thin breeches, walked into the city, to find who had messaged him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term “Beef-witted blatherskite” used with the kind permission of Morgan Wagner.


	4. The Testing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On her 18th birthday, Meliantha faces her trials of adulthood in the church.

## Ches 19, 1372

 

“Good morning, daughter,” Davlin called out as he moved the curtain aside. “Happy birthday.”

Meliantha looked up from where she sat in her small room, sword across her legs, and one hand holding a polishing cloth, dressed in simple clothes. She nodded. “Good morning, father. Thank you.”

The priest regarded his daughter, as she stood. She was – would never be – a great beauty, nor even simply ‘plain’. Her demon blood had left its mark: her skin the grey of burned charcoal ash; her ears longer and more pointed than an elf’s, her eyes the most alluring, no sign of white or pupil and just like a pair of amethysts inset in her skull. She wasn’t as tall as he was, but she was broader. Her body was powerful, able to swing a heavy blade or lift a large crate without much effort. For all the robustness of her frame, though, she was still nimble – she tended to wear lighter armor than most, and had developed her fighting style with speed, force, and avoidance. The blade she carried was what was called by some a bastard sword, and she could wield it with both hands like most, or with just one. She wasn’t tremendously feminine in build (one of the warpriestesses had commented, on learning Meliantha never had started her moon-times, that she was “a barren as the desert and almost as flat”, a crack that got her a challenge and a beating from Meliantha), but she took solace in learning from her two teachers outside the temple, who had never shown her anything but goodwill.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” Her voice was soft, and had a slight undertone like a growl, which was audible at times like this.

“Indeed. You should dress for it.” She nodded, and he stepped out to give her privacy.

She emerged, dressed in the formal clothing he’d given her just a few days before. Underneath the buff-colored shirt, red vest and dark grey breeches, the suit of chain that she’d been given could be seen (and heard). The sword was on her belt. The medallion of Helm that had been her most prized possession, more than the sword or the armor or even the clothes, the one she’d fought like the demon that her blood came from when one of the other foundlings tried to take it from her, hung from its chain, polished and gleaming. Her boots, made of black leather that came up to mid-shin, shone just as much, and were polished from toe to heel to upper.

“I’m ready.” 

* * *

 

He led her out of the room they’d shared, and down the corridor. The temple was quiet, as it approached dusk on this day. As they entered the chapel, those present turned to look. Tathlosar Brimmerbold, grey-haired and grizzled, arms folded and in his most formal armor, stood before the door. Sir Brimfold Torvallos and his protégé, Taralanth (now a paladin on his own) stood vigil on either side of it. Gathered around it were others: Aemon McFallgar, his face expressionless but with his eyes twinkling at the girl he’d seen grow the past four years; Olbrimsur Thunderwood, her teacher in woodcraft and the combat not taught in the temple, wearing a suit of chainmail that she’d never seen before, his great bow and his twinned short swords hanging just so on him. Darthleen was not present, but she had already said she could not be.

“Today,” Brimmerbold said, “this child of the temple, at the start of her eighteenth year, will stand vigil and pray for the guidance of Helm. You have counted yourselves her teachers; you have trained her in your arts and brought her to age. You have taught her to use her strength for others, not for herself; to know and understand the laws of gods and of men and to defend them; to face those who would use law to break souls and bring them under tyranny. Now, before she enters her vigil, each of you may give her your advice and, should you wish, your blessing.”

Aemon McFallgar spoke first. “Ye arenae what your birth-father gave ye. Ye are what ye make of yeself. Go with my blessing and the blessing of Helm.”

Sir Brimfold cleared his throat. “You have something of a willful spirit. You know and respect the law, but you can see what harm may cause when misused by evil. Keep both sides in your thoughts, and never falter. The blessing of Helm be upon you.”

Olbrimsur spoke next. “I have shown you the skills of blade and bow, wood and field. You have been an excellent student, and no teacher could be prouder than I. Go with my blessing, and with the blessing of both Helm and Mielikki, so that you know how to walk amongst both man and beast.”

Taralanth took his turn. “I have watched you grow, as I have grown, into an instrument of righteousness. You know right and wrong, good and evil, and your heart shows you the path of goodness. May Helm’s gauntlet stand between you and mortal danger when you need it most.” Sir Brimfold glanced at his protégé, and Meliantha had the feeling there would be a discussion between them.

Finally, it was Davlin’s turn. “My daughter, there is no more advice I can give you. Go in Helm’s grace.” His eyes shone with tears of joy he would not share in public.

“Thank you all. I will begin my vigil now.” She strode forth, her heels clacking on marble, and then muffled on the carpet, as she entered the vigil chamber. As the sun set outside, the doors closed behind her, and as she reached the vigil altar, she drew her blade, kneeled, and kneeled before it, and soundlessly prayed.

* * *

 

Four candles had burned and been replaced, and she was midway through the fifth, when her senses pricked. She slowed her breathing and listened. And there!

She brought her sword up in time to parry the strike from another blade, bringing herself from her knees to standing straightening her legs. Eyes that could see through the darkness only saw the sword. The candle burned, and she dueled the sword and its spectral wielder as it did. When the candle snuffed itself in the molten wax, the blade rose into a salute position, then faded.

Meliantha had expected something odd to happen; that seemed to be part of it. She took a deep breath, knowing she had no way to wipe the sweat that she’d gathered during the strangely bloodless duel, more a test of skill than an actual combat, and then turned to face the candle and kneel again.

She wasn’t alone now. A man in bright-polished armor, his face revealed with the visor of his helm raised, stood between her and the armor. He was very slightly see-through, and there was light limning him.

As she raised her blade, she raised her hand. “Stay your blade. I am not here to fight you – you have passed that test, and passed it well. I am here to test your mind.”

She raised her blade, then turned it point down, placing the tip on the floor. “I await your questions.”

Whoever he was, he gave her an exhaustive examination on the rules of Helm, and the laws of Berdusk, before engaging her in debate on points of law and justice. Finally, after what felt like hours, he ended it. “Enough. While I may not completely agree with your arguments, your knowledge is sufficient.” He faded away, the light being the last to go, and she kneeled again. The night was taking its toll – she felt exhaustion crawling into the edges of her mind.

Another candle had gone, when something prickled at the back of her neck. She opened her eyes again, and turned to look behind. In the alcove between the vigil chamber itself and the door, a figure stood. She was tall, slender, bosomy, and beautiful. On her, the grey skin was touched up with cosmetics to make her look glamorous; her black hair was long instead of chopped short like Meliantha’s, drawn back into a long tail down her back. Instead of armor, she wore a gown that dove nearly to her navel, with sleeves that came halfway down her arms, and slit on one side to show one shapely leg.

“Mmm,” the woman said, and the voice was throaty, and seductive, for all that it was Meliantha’s own. “Too bad. If you hadn’t been so intent on being a warrior, you might have had this.” She gestured at her body. “But you threw away any chance at this body, choosing a life of duty and honor and sacrifice and all those  _boring_  things.” She took a step forwards. “You still could have it, you know,” the woman purred. “Just say you want it… just say you want this life, a life where you can have men and women wait on you, at your beck and call.”

It was everything she’d ever wanted. Everything she’d dreamed of. She’d throw off all the bindings she’d put on herself, every single moment where she would be the pretty one, not the ugly one. She saw those moments where no one stood against her, because she could just make them do her bidding. She saw… a betrayal of everything she’d learned, that she’d believed. Not just her faith in Helm, but what had been taught by Olbrimsur and Darthleene. She could choose this, and the few people she cherished would turn against her. She’d have to kill them, or they’d kill her… and if she killed them, she’d lose any hope of not becoming the sort of demonic horror she feared she was.

It passed through her in a moment, and then she said, simply, “No.”

Her dark twin smiled. “We’ll talk again, I’m sure.” And then she faded away into a mist, the smile on the rouged lips being the last to go.

Finally, Meliantha kneeled again, head bowed, exhaustion chewing at her mind, and she prayed still.

* * *

 

Hunger clawed at her, and so did thirst. And just as she felt she might collapse, the door opened, letting in the sunlight. She rose, wearily, then sheathed her blade and turned. Davlin was there, holding a tray.

“Good morning,” he said. “Are you well?”

She smiled thinly, and said, “Well enough. Tired and hungry, but well, Father.”

“Then come forth and eat, Meliantha. You have passed your test.”

“I must prepare,” she said. “I think, Father, it is time for me to go.”

“After you eat and rest,” he said, firmly. “I am still your father.”

She smiled again, wearily. “After I eat and rest.”

* * *

 

 

Ches 28:

 

“You have everything?” Davlin fretted, checking the straps on her backpack and the hang of her scabbard.

Meliantha chuckled, softly. “What you and Olbrimsur suggested, father.” And she meant that. Tied to her upper arm was a small package containing a set of tools for opening locks, a skill Olbrimsur had a friend of his teach her. While the friend was now a law-abiding merchant, some things both said told her he hadn’t always been, so that skill was not one she displayed in front of her father.

“And the coins?”

“In the pouch inside my shirt, Father. Stop fretting,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders. “It will be all right. Olbrimsur has gotten me a place as a caravan guard, and I will send messages.” She gave him a little shake. “This day had to come, father. I can’t stay here forever.”

“I know, Meliantha. But…” He took a deep breath, and let it out. “I’m worried about what might happen to you. What kinds of things might happen to you when someone sees you and…” He hung his head. “I’ve known you since you were born. I can’t bear the idea of losing you.”

She hugged him, tightly, and he let out a small gasp as she did, so strong was the hug. “You’re not losing me. You’re  _letting me go_  to find out who and what I really am. My test… showed me things I hadn’t considered about myself. Now I need to go.” She released him, then stepped back to go. [“](https://www.studiosurrealism.com/2017/03/the-testing/#) _Lissenen ar’ maska’lalaith tenna’ lye omentuva._[“](https://www.studiosurrealism.com/2017/03/the-testing/#)

“Blasted Elftongue,” he said, then hugged her, briefly. “Rest in Helm’s hand until we meet again.”

She didn’t cry as she turned to go, and went down the stairs. Waiting at the doors was old Sleepless Teeth himself.

“A present for ye,” he said, and offered his hand, palm up. She reached out her own, and he poured what was within his into hers. She stared for a moment, then looked at the old priest, astonished.

“Was mine when I was an adventurer. Ye don’t have quite as much need for it, but take it anyway.” Wordlessly, she fastened the chain, with the silver pendant of Helm, around her neck, then tucked it into her shirt. “Go with my blessing, girl, and may those who need protectin’ know hope at the sight of you and may those offenders know fear, and may Helm bless you and keep you.”

Unsure of her ability to keep her voice from trembling, she dropped to one knee before him for a moment, then rose and went. She kept going, not looking back, through the temple gates. She passed Olbrimsur’s shop, but the door was closed. So were the doors of The Dawn Of Any Day, but she still felt a hand on her shoulder, laying one last blessing on her.

That final moment done, she headed towards the caravanserai to meet with the caravan she was going to guard, and into Cormyr to see what life outside Berdusk had to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "moon-times" is a term used in Faerun for menstruation.
> 
> "Lissenen ar’ maska’lalaith tenna’ lye omentuva." is a tradtional Moon Elven parting, and means "Sweet water and light laughter until we meet again".

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the Forgotten Realms, about four years before the Time of Troubles.
> 
> The original adventures of Meliantha use the D&D 3.5 rules, so tieflings - like her - do not automatically have horns and tails.


End file.
